An Elf's Lament
by Amethyst Flames
Summary: Santa is determined to reward Draco's appearance on the “nice” list with his heart's desire and that desire just happens to be Harry. A pushy elf named Hector is landed with the rather impossible job of giving Harry to Draco.
1. In Which Two People Have Troubles

Title: An Elf's Lament

Rating: PG-13 or R

Word count: 1463

Pairing: Harry/Draco (minor: Ron/Hermione, Dean/Seamus, others)

Genre: Humor/fluff

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize belongs to me, including but not limited to the concept of elves as Santa's helpers.

Summary: Santa is determined to reward Draco's appearance on the "nice" list with his heart's desire - and that desire just happens to be Harry. A pushy elf named Hector is landed with the rather impossible job of "giving" Harry to Draco.

Notes: I couldn't resist. Yes, it's probably another trite Harry/Draco fic, but the plot bunny was in my head, and I couldn't get it out. Fic is named for a Bare Naked Ladies' song of the same title. Please review! I find the encouragement is much needed!

When Harry awoke one morning to find a funny little man sitting at the end of his four-poster bed, he wasn't surprised. It seemed that Harry was _always_ getting funny little men, or mysterious dogs, or strange mythical animals, or _something_ popping up constantly anyways, so what difference could one small, three-foot man with a short brown beard make, anyways? Still, slightly curious, and required by tradition, Harry put on a surprised look.

"If you don't mind me asking, who are you and why are you on my bed?" Best to get right to the point; sometimes these sudden visitors tended to babble and never actually told him what was going on.

"Well, isn't that a little rude? A Christmas elf pays you a visit – Hector at your service, by the way – and you can't even be a little happy? Most children would love to see an elf. Everyone knows what it means, after all." Hector remained sitting at the foot of the bed, arms crossed in a pouty manner. He did look rather like a Christmas elf, at least what Harry imagined Christmas elves to be. He was dressed in green and red, with pointy shoes and ears, and looked nothing like Dobby or the other houseelves. Still, he was not quite the cheerful, jolly type.

"I was raised by Muggles. I have no clue what it means, and I should very much appreciate it if you would explain it to me, please," Harry said as politely as he could. No use offending him if this was supposed to be a pleasant visit. It never seemed like his visits from magical people were ever very pleasant.

"Oh, don't Muggles understand? Well, I don't suppose they ever believe their children when we visit them. It means," and the elf stood up, very straight, and bowed pompously, "that you will get your heart's desire this Christmas, and that Santa Claus has found you worthy for his most special reward."

Well, that was quite a change. What had he done to merit such a thing? Oh, right, defeated Voldemort. That was most likely it. His mind quickly ran through the possibilities...bring back Sirius? No, that didn't seem very doable. What _did_ he truly desire? Maybe the elf knew. That would be convenient.

"So what is it that I will receive, come Christmas Day?" Harry asked.

Hector looked a little sheepish. He coughed slightly, clearing his throat, then said, "Er, well..._you_ won't exactly be getting anything. See, it's not _you_ that has merited the special reward. It's...Dikamilfo." The elf mumbled the last part so fast that Harry could not catch it.

"Come again?"

The throat clearing again. "Draco Malfoy. His switch to the nice list after 16 years as "naughty" has caught Santa's attention. Most people don't make the switch, after all. And nothing can fool the list, so he must be sincere. And therefore, he shall receive his heart's desire."

Harry stared at the small man. Santa had sent an elf to come at (checked the clock) 5 am to tell him that his worst enemy was going to receive the highest honor from Santa Claus? Well, not worst enemy, but most annoying nuisance at least. What did any of that have to do with Harry, anyways? He considered the idea that he was just having a very vivid, strange dream and pinched himself. It hurt. Bugger.

Sighing, he turned his attention back to the elf. "And what does any of that have to do with me? Do I have Malfoy's heart's desire?" Maybe it was his invisibility cloak or something. Strange for Malfoy to want, but then, Malfoy was a material-oriented person.

"Well…you could say that. Yes, yes you do hold Mr. Malfoy's greatest desire." The elf looked a little amused at this, and coughed into his hand. So his coughing was both a nervous gesture and a cover-up. Harry wondered if he should offer him a cough drop. He had some lemon-flavored ones from Dumbledore.

"Okay, so I have it. What is it? I'm not just going to give it up to him just because he wants it, and he's not a total prat anymore."

"Well…" the elf's eyes gleamed, and Harry intensely disliked the look of that smile, "_you_ are what Draco Malfoy most desires. Therefore, I am required to give _you_ to him this Christmas."

Surely this was a dream. A very strange dream that someone was inducing upon him for a joke. Ron, perhaps. No, Ron would never dream of setting him up with Draco Malfoy. Seamus, then. Seamus has a messed up sense of humor, right? Harry pinched himself again, this time harder. He was awake. Why had he thought this visit would be pleasant? He had just been informed that he was been handed over like meat to Malfoy.

Well, shit.

An hour and a very long explanation later, Hector had managed to convince Harry of one thing – Malfoy was not out for blood. He didn't want to _abuse_ Harry, at least, not if Hector was to be believed. But Harry could not be persuaded of exactly why Malfoy _did_ want him.

"I'll say it again, for the fortieth time, Draco. Malfoy. Is. In. Love. With. YOU!" As delicate as Santa had said to be about this matter, there was no getting around rudeness now. Harry Potter was as stubborn as a pig. More stubborn – pigs were quite reasonable once you gave them something to eat. Should he try that with Harry?

"By the way, I have some Chocolate Frogs if that'll help," the elf said slyly.

Harry looked at him suspiciously. "Help with what? Are you going to drug me and present me to Malfoy tied up with ribbons?"

No, Harry was not a pig. Too bad. Oh, he was speaking again. Didn't the boy ever stop spouting his denial?

"Look, Malfoy hates me. I hate him. It's what we do. There is no possible way he could love me, and still be the prick he is to me." Harry rolled his eyes. "I've seen people in love. Look at Ron and Hermione, Dean and Seamus – they practically ooze sugar. It's disgusting! Malfoy, on the other hand, oozes poison. Harmless poison, but poison nonetheless."

How could poison be harmless? Hector wondered. Oh, maybe like that daddy-long-legs, where they were too small to bite you, so their potent poison is useless. Wait, back to the point.

"Haven't you ever heard of a boy pulling the pigtails of a girl he likes? It's the same thing with Mr. Malfoy. He's obsessed with you, he can't get enough of you – he just doesn't realize the context yet. He's as clueless as you are." Honestly, teenagers. For all their obsession with sex, you'd think they would quickly figure out just exactly who they wanted to have it with. Hector pulled the covers slightly more around him, and less off Harry. If he was going to have to argue, he was going to be damn well comfortable while doing it.

"Alright," Harry said slowly, "Say Malfoy does 'love' me. Say he harbors this secret passion for me. If he doesn't realize it, isn't he going to be mighty confused when you suddenly present me Christmas Day and say, 'Hey, you own Harry Potter. Have fun' ?"

Hector rolled his eyes. "Well, obviously, that's not how we're going to go about this. He doesn't want to _own_ you, well, not in the material sense. He wants you to love him like he loves you. You know, the head-over-heels, fluffy kind of love. And we at the North Pole can't _force_ you to love him. But we can very well try our damnedest. You are going to spend time with him, have fun with him, seduce him, until you're either as lovesick as a puppy or hate him so much you can't see straight. It's December 1st. You have 24 days ahead of you. Operation Overdose Of Malfoy is in effect as of today. I'll give you your missions, and you fulfill them."

Harry was staring at him disbelievingly. Hey, it wasn't Hector's fault that the acronym rhymed with "doom".

"I wouldn't want to rebel, Mr. Potter. Santa is a jolly old fellow, but he can be pretty vicious when angry. You don't want to see that bowl full of jelly stop jiggling. Believe me, you just don't. How do you think I got stuck with this job? He can create a personal hell, just for you."

Harry looked suitably intimidated. Or slightly constipated. Whichever it was, Hector released the Silencing Charm he had put on the curtains at his arrival and tipped his pointy green hat.

"You'll get your first orders later today, Mr. Potter. I would advise you follow them."

To be continued…


	2. In Which There Are Eggs and Oatmeal

Title: An Elf's Lament

Rating: PG-13 or R

Word count: 1463

Pairing: Harry/Draco (minor: Ron/Hermione, Dean/Seamus, others)

Genre: Humor/fluff

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize belongs to me, including but not limited to the concept of elves as Santa's helpers.

Summary: Santa is determined to reward Draco's appearance on the "nice" list with his heart's desire - and that desire just happens to be Harry. A pushy elf named Hector is landed with the rather impossible job of "giving" Harry to Draco.

Notes: Sorry it took so long, but I'm not a fast writer, and I just came back to college last week. Thank you to everyone who reviewed! It really helped to keep me going (along with checking the stats for favorites and alerts), and thanks especially to Cupcake for her long review that made me squeal in happiness! I hope this lives up to everyone's expectations and all constructive criticism is welcome! And of course everyone knew that Dumbledore would be involved somehow...(if it's not already obvious, this fic disregards the 6th book and skims over that year.)

In Which There Are Eggs and Oatmeal

Hector could not imagine what he had done to deserve this assignment. Sure, he might have expressed a little…displeasure…with his current arrangement as a toy-making elf. But what was the point of making little trucks and dolls when no child truly appreciates them? And Hector was tired of sitting in the same spot as the past few decades, checking his section of the list (Fe-Fr) and what type of gadget/thingamabob/gizmo would most suit the 'good little child'. He wanted to get out, see the world, _live_ a little.

But when he had mentioned that to his supervisor, oh boy, was there trouble. He was called into Santa's office just a few hours later and lo and behold! stuck with the task of presenting a selfish little boy (he remembered the whiny letters from Draco Malfoy that the elves had read during story time) with a stubborn little hero. Yes, a fit punishment for one who complains of boredom. Santa wanted to make sure he was thankful he didn't venture outside the cozy factory more often.

Hector thought back to the day before, when he was sent into the big man's office for his new "project".

...a...

Hector hesitated, studying the door to Santa's study. It was bright green, with shimmering red designs in the shapes of reindeer, ornaments, and various other Christmas goodies. Really, was there anything in this town that was _not_ Christmas-obsessed? Seriously, get a bit of a life _outside_ the glitter and sparkles.

He was still standing in front of the vividly colored door. Hector suddenly wished himself back to his place in the factory, making another hot pink dump truck for the odd girly tomboy. Shutting his eyes, he reached out and knocked.

A few moments later, by magic it seemed, he was seated in front of a red-clothed man with a mug of hot chocolate, not too hot or cold and full of marshmallows.

"Well, Hector," Santa said, smiling in his jovial way, "I hear that you're not satisfied making toys? Become a bit boring now, has it?" He laughed, his stomach jiggling, his cheeks rosy.

Hector's forced smile was more like a grimace. There were times when Santa was just a little too…Santa-y.

As if to mock him, Santa gave another jolly chuckle. "So I've decided to give you a new task. How would you like to leave for a while, get out and see the world a bit? A part of the world called Hogwarts, to be exact."

Wait, wasn't that… "The wizarding school?"

Santa smiled, pleased to see he recognized the name. "Yes, I've been talking to my old friend Albus Dumbledore, and I've decided that a student by the name of Draco Malfoy deserves our highest reward. He's made a switch over to the "nice" side, and we'd like to keep it that way."

"And what does that have to do with me?" Oh, he knew the name Malfoy. _Everyone_ knew the name Malfoy. Malfoy meant nothing but trouble to all involved.

"_You_, my dear Hector, are in charge of giving him his heart's desire. Dumbledore has mentioned a few other things about Mr. Malfoy that I found _very_ interesting…"

...b...

And so it had begun. "Kill them with kindness" or however the saying went. Santa was just _too_ kind, really. Hector contemplated hanging himself with one of those strings of Christmas lights that the Big Guy so favored. The ones with only red and green colors, blinking in perfect time to endless renditions of 'Santa Claus is Coming to Town'.

Enough of that. Hector had a job to do, and he was going to have his revenge on Mr. Santa Claus. He was going to enjoy this, whether he liked it or not.

Shrugging his head, the small man set off to deliver Harry's first mission.

...c...

Harry was a reasonable teenager. Since he spent his fifth year whining, he had tried to stay away from the woe-is-me and if-I-kill-myself-will-this-all-go-away rants. But still, despite his attempts to lead a perfectly normal life – which he very much deserved after last summer, thank you – someone had to go and thrust _this_ upon him. Not just anyone, _Santa_. Isn't Santa supposed to be kind, jolly, and all that garbage?

Enough of that. Time to reassess the situation. Think about it calmly, like a soldier. That Harry had never actually had the soldier or Auror training was not at all important.

What did he know about Malfoy? Malfoy had been evil. Well, bad. He had been his father's lapdog, annoyed Harry from first through fifth year, and then suddenly and miraculously made a change at the beginning of sixth year. No more arguments, no more name-calling, no more plots to get Harry expelled. Malfoy was now a "good boy".

Yeah. Right. Like even now anyone would call Malfoy a good boy. Well, there was the notable exception of Santa. Bugger.

Moving on. So Malfoy behaves…less aggressively…towards Harry during sixth year, has lots of meetings with Dumbledore (which Harry found out about during one of his spying trips around the school that were perfectly okay because after all, no one ever tells him what he needs to know, right? At least that's how he explained it to Hermione), and says not one word about his father for that entire year.

Then last summer, the Forces of Good – Percy had come up with the exciting name – had massed and attacked Voldemort's hideout in an old castle that Snape had so sneakily found, supposedly with the help of newly anointed 'good boy'. There was a big attack, a big battle, lots of blood…well, let's skip to the important part. Harry was, as he was supposed to be, in a darn impressive ballroom fighting a darn impressive Voldemort with his darn impressive powers. Darn impressive, if he said so himself.

The rest was slightly a blur. Harry had been holding off a spell, Lucius had come in, Malfoy after him…he remembered thinking that Malfoy had gone back to the other side and had a flash of panic that everyone was dead except for him…and then there were lots of lights, Lucius was on the floor, Malfoy was on the floor, Voldemort was staring straight at him, Harry screamed in rage and suddenly, there was nothing.

For weeks afterward, everyone had asked one question – how had he killed Voldemort?

And for weeks afterward, Harry had answered them – he didn't know. Then he stopped answering. It got redundant after a while.

No one knew that Malfoy had been there for the closing. Malfoy had dragged him out of there, he knew that much. Apparently he had been passed out for hours afterwards. Harry didn't know why the Slytherin downplayed his part in the story – maybe he was unsure how much Harry had noticed or remembered. Maybe he hadn't actually done anything good at all.

But now Santa's list was saying that he had. And now Harry had to make some sort of…connection…with this new Malfoy. This Malfoy he had yet to speak to after the battle, except for a terse "thank you," alone in his hospital room with the other boy. It had been met with a silent gaze. Harry had thought the blond wouldn't do or say anything. And then suddenly his mouth had tilted up into that trademark smirk, a look that seemed to contradict his next words:

"No problem, Potter."

That was it. Nothing more, nothing less. And since Harry didn't know how to react to that, he left it alone. And would have continued leaving it alone.

Sighing heavily, he glanced at the clock. 7:20. If he didn't hurry, he'd be late to breakfast. He hadn't slept any since Hector had come, but it's not like he would be able to sleep now. Might as well face the horrors to come.

Unwillingly seducing Draco Malfoy. Who'd have thought? Ron was going to die. And then maybe come back to life and eat him.

...d...

Thirty minutes later, Harry was calmly eating breakfast with Hermione and Ron. Yes, calmly. Nothing uncalm about Harry, nosiree. The fact that his oatmeal was talking to him didn't bug him in the least.

Hermione was looking at him questioningly. Harry covered the alphabet-shaped spaghetti that was somehow floating in his oatmeal spelling out "WELL GET OVER THERE DAMN YOU" with more of the gloppy brown mush and turned to look questioningly back at her.

"I asked if you had done your essay for Potions yet," she repeated, putting on her worried face. "Are you alright?"

Ron rolled his eyes at his girlfriend. "Of course he's alright. Just because he doesn't want to talk Potions before eight in the morning doesn't mean he's sick."

Harry remained motionless. If he didn't distract them, in approximately twenty-six more seconds they would be happily bickering amongst themselves. Turn away, Hermione, turn away and look at Ron, there's a good girl.

"Well, if he doesn't want to talk Potions, then I'm afraid you're just going to have to do then." Hermione batted her eyelashes mockingly and then said in her sweetest voice, "And what have _you_ done on the essay, hmm?"

Satisfied that the two were not going to look at him or his oatmeal anytime soon, Harry glanced back down. Now the words "IF YOU DONT GET OVER THERE ILL MAKE YOU" were strewn haphazardly across the brown surface. It badly needs punctuation, Harry thought. But apostrophes or not, he was not willing to go over to the Slytherin table and do…that to Malfoy. He was beginning to think Hector had no clue about seducing people. Either that or the elf was a sadist.

He peeked again. FINE YOULL DO IT ANYWAYS. What kind of magic do Christmas elves have again? His legs were itching to walk over to the Slytherin table. The more he sat, the stronger the impulse got. Apparently they had some damn strong magic.

He murmured a counterspell under his breath, moving his wand beneath the table. The urge just strengthened. Two more spells later, he was standing up. And there was the walking.

Please, please, please Santa I'll never ask for anything ever again, just don't make me do this, oh shit—

He was in front of Malfoy now.

"Malfoy." His mouth was still under his control. Goodie, what a silver lining.

The blond looked up. He looked confused. Gee, I wonder why? Harry thought sarcastically. He's bound to look a lot more confused in a few seconds.

"Malfoy, forgive me for I know not what I do." Might as well confuse him with the dialogue too. Harry had a moment to laugh at the utter astonishment on Malfoy's face until…

He wrenched the fork full of eggs from the Slytherin's hand and shoved it towards his shock-opened mouth.

Then he smiled awkwardly as Malfoy tried to mumble something that sounded like "what the _fuck_?" around a mouthful of bright yellow mush.

"Tata for now." And he was running. Where would a small little elf hide in a magical school?

The kitchens.

...e...

Hector laughed to himself wildly as he watched through the glass the house-elves used to keep track of emptying dishes. It could zoom in at any angle, so he had a perfect view of Harry attacking Draco with a fork.

It was a perfectly defensible action. After all, don't lovers feed each other strawberries and other such delectable foods? Eggs definitely counted as delectable, especially for breakfast time.

Yes, there was no way Santa could reprehend him for this move. He was merely a Christmas elf, in no way schooled in the art of seduction. This was a plausible situation to his inexperienced eyes.

One of the house-elves approached him.

"Mr. Other Elf, sir, Dobby is wondering if he could use the Looker, sir? Winky says that someone is coming down the hallway, very mad, and Dobby is thinking that maybe his plate was empty. We don't want no trouble here. Dobby will have to pour burning coffee over his head."

Hector turned to look at the fretting house-elf, who was wearing one bright pink sock that said "For a good time, I'm right here" in sparkling, neon green lettering and one red sock with broomsticks flying around and around it. Another nutter. Why did the house-elves go crazy before the Christmas elves? Perhaps he should be campaigning for them instead of for himself. No, they could do their own dirty work, he decided. He politely decided to ignore commenting on the questionable fashion of the elf and instead stepped away from the glass.

"I was done anyways. Thank you for lending it to me." Hector bowed. No use antagonizing the house-elves. He could see himself using the kitchen many times in the future.

Leaving Dobby looking worriedly through the glass, Hector wandered towards the door, silently gloating. Oh, but he was going to have fun with this assignment.

"Hector! I'm going to _kill_ you!"

Harry burst through the door, eyes wide and enraged.

And Hector had been worried about ticking _Santa_ off? He looked for an escape route.

"Dobby, catch that elf!"

As a pink and red-footed blur ran towards him, Hector swore to never even consider helping the house-elves out again.

To be continued...


	3. In Which Draco Has News Clippings

Title: An Elf's Lament

Title: An Elf's Lament

Rating: PG-13 or R

Word count: 1,756

Pairing: Harry/Draco

Genre: Humor/fluff

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize belongs to me, including but not limited to the concept of elves as Santa's helpers.

Notes: As you can see, I am a horrible updater. I usually will update eventually, but it sometimes takes me forever and a day, and sometimes takes me less than a week. I'm so very sorry, but usually what gets me going again is reviews, so please, feel free to throw them at me! I love constructive criticism, since when I know what to improve upon, I feel even more inspired to write the next chapter and do it better than the previous one.

Hector moaned pitifully and rolled over onto his slightly-less-bruised side. Harry had gotten him good, and although he had grudgingly repaired a few of the worse bruises (mainly gained by falling down the stairs running away from the crazed teenage hero), he left the Black & Blue hex that he had thrown at the elf right after. He had then proceeded to lecture about proper seduction techniques for half an hour, which led Hector to comment, "You seem rather eager to make sure this succeeds." Thankfully that had turned out to be the most embarrassing thing to say to the boy, because Harry just looked rather annoyed and stormed out rather quickly.

Hm...perhaps there was more to this Malfoy creature than he thought. He should go take a look.

Calling upon the Christmas powers that elves were only supposed to use in the completion of tasks - but really, doesn't this count? He was beaten in the line of duty after all - Hector quickly healed the most painful of the remaining bruises and pulled an Unnoticeable Air around himself. Because elves often had to go spy on children, they had perfected the spell hundreds of years before. Now, however, they weren't allowed to use it that often because of some privacy charges. Apparently one elf had used it on a celebrity in America, and the whole thing had just turned very messy. But it wasn't technically illegal, just frowned upon, and it's not like he was watching some blonde actress in the shower.

So, feeling quite satisfied with his justification, Hector popped on down to the dungeons to observe.

...a...

Draco was not in a good mood. He had been accosted - accosted! - by that stupid bobbled-headed Boy, and he had no idea why. After two years of truce, to have Harry appear in front of him and shove scrambled eggs in his mouth...really, wasn't it just a little too juvenile? And it didn't even make sense as an attack or a prank. Sure, Harry could have put something into the eggs, but Draco hadn't really felt anything at the time but panic and surprise, and didn't feel anything now except total confusion.

He didn't even notice anymore that he had called Harry by his first name. Though he had never done it to the boy's face, after saving his life in that crazy battle, he just couldn't bring himself to think of him as 'Potter' anymore.

He never admitted to himself that saying Harry in his thoughts made him feel special, but it did.

But though he used many search spells upon himself, he found no evidence of any potions or charms. The eggs were not magical then. Just strange.

Sighing to himself, Draco got up off his bed and opened his chest. He had tried to break himself of this habit, but maybe because of all the emotions that those days had held, he couldn't help himself. When he climbed back onto his four-poster, he was holding an album full of news clippings. News clippings from the war.

The war had been shorter than he had ever imagined. And despite all the things he had endured - the Cruciatus, torture, Veritaserum, all the usual war crimes - he had felt unaffected then and still felt that way now. After the way his father had treated him after fifth year...after he had escaped from Azkaban, enraged and desperate, hoping to prove himself and oh-so-angry when he found out that Draco would not help him. Draco, the coward, who didn't want to be involved in a war. Draco, who hadn't liked how his father looked and acted. Draco, who had woken up one day and seen that his father was much more cowardly than he war, that his father would kiss the toe of a monster and call it 'Master'.

After the disillusion, he hadn't wanted to ever become like his father again. And his father hadn't taken that very well.

So when he got back to Hogwarts that year, he resolved to stay out of the war as much as possible. He went to Dumbledore for protection, and all his plans changed in the drop of a Sorting Hat. The Sorting Hat had predicted that unless Draco helped, Harry would die. After giving Dumbledore a long lecture about how the Sorting Hat should be teaching Divination, he had proceeded to be trained by Snape.

Somehow, it had worked. Even now, Draco couldn't believe the intensity and level of determination he had then. He learned skills so far above his level that he thought he might die just trying to accomplish them. He became more powerful than his father. Then he had killed his father.

And Harry had been saved, and Draco had not kissed anyone's feet or called them master.

But he had downplayed his part, cowardly once again, too scared to admit that he had killed his father to anyone but himself. Too scared that it would make him break down if someone else knew. He was sure Dumbledore knew, but the old coot had not, and would not, confront him about it.

The only other person who suspected was Harry. And Harry would not tell.

Instead of being angry with him, suspicious of him, or falsely thankful - Draco had not been able to predict the boy's reaction - Harry had looked a little puzzled and what seemed like sincerely, though quietly, grateful. "Thank you." Those words had saved Draco in the days after his father died. He knew it had been worth it.

Coming back to himself, he noticed that he was staring at a picture of Harry, tired and confused and hurt, under the headline "Boy Who Lived Kills You-Know-Who". Too afraid to put the name into print even after his death. Typical.

Draco put the album back and got up to gather his books for classes.

...b...

Hector watched the Malfoy boy sit on his bed, buried in his thoughts, stare at the picture of Harry for half an hour and wondered just how Santa and Dumbledore had known about this. He suspected they both used Unnoticeable Air more often than they were supposed to.

Still, this was all interesting information. He had to admit, the blond one seemed much more inclined towards this present than the present himself did. Hector always rooted for the underdog (but bet on the sure win), so he would try to help the poor boy a little more for real now.

Besides, torturing Harry was really the most fun he had had in years.

...c...

Harry hadn't planned on taking a stroll today. He especially hadn't planned on going out in the freezing weather only to be caught in the snow and ending up in the Slytherin locker room. He also hadn't planned for Malfoy to be in there with him.

"Stupid Hector and his stupid feet moving powers. And I don't even have a coat and it's really piling up out there," Harry muttered to himself as he put his hands in his armpits to keep them warm. He ignored Malfoy looking at him in confusion.

Harry pleaded in his thoughts. 'Please don't talk about it Malfoy, please don't...'

"So, why eggs?"

"Bugger." Harry turned to the other boy. "Why not?" he said simply. "You were eating eggs, so you obviously like eggs. I could have fed you oatmeal, but after this morning, even I don't like oatmeal, and I know you never eat it."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Glad to know you studied my favorite breakfast food before you shoved it down my throat. Alright, I'll rephrase the question. Why feeding me food at all? Was that an attack? Because if it was, you've really gotten pretty bad since the last time we fought with each other. Maybe I should've kept irritating you, kept you in shape."

"You look underfed."

"My body is in perfect shape. Thin is in."

"You weren't eating fast enough, and it was bugging me."

"I don't believe I've changed my eating speed, or ever will, so unless you plan on thrusting eggs in my mouth every morning, that endeavor was futile."

Harry didn't think Malfoy had noticed how dirty "thrusting eggs in my mouth" had sounded. He swallowed hard.

"The eggs were poisoned."

"Then why aren't I dead?"

"It's a delayed poison."

"I'm immune to most delayed poisons."

"Then it won't work on you."

"But they do give me an immediate severe stomachache."

"Oh."

"Next?"

"I was trying to seduce you."

Malfoy paused and looked thoughtful. Then he smirked.

"Well, that brings us right back to the question of 'Why eggs?'. Please read a romance book or two before you attempt to seduce anyone else, because they likely won't be as forgiving of complete idiots as I am."

Harry tried to interpret the sentence, the look, the air Malfoy had about him. He seemed...relieved? Not that Harry was seducing him, no, he didn't believe that, but about something...whatever it was, Malfoy was willing to forgive him. Harry took the chance. After what Malfoy did for him, he didn't want to repay him in spite and past anger.

"I do appreciate your forgiving soul, and I heartily apologize. I promise not to feed you any scrambled eggs in the future."

Malfoy looked satisfied at that, and so Harry couldn't help but add, "But I don't make promises about any other foods, breakfast or otherwise," before throwing a quick warming charm on himself and escaping out into the lightening snowfall.

He didn't look back to see Malfoy's completely confused face, but he knew it was there.

...d...

Hector popped up beside him in the hall.

"Well, well, aren't we enjoying ourselves seducing the little Slytherin, hmm?" he said, floating comfortably along beside Harry.

"Don't congratulate yourself just yet. He looked a little too self-satisfied, and I wanted to confuse him a bit. That's all it was, not a promise of future seduction," Harry said, getting a wee bit tired of elvish interference in his everyday life.

The elf just looked at him. "Oh but you will," he said ominously, before popping out of sight and leaving Harry alone in the hall, a little confused and a lot apprehensive.

Oddly enough, he was looking forward to beating his boredom. Having fought and planned and snuck around his entire life, it would be nice to get back to it on a slightly smaller scale.

He just wasn't sure about this end result Hector seemed to have in mind.

To be continued...


	4. In Which Harry Has a Mental Bookshelf

Titles: An Elf's Lament

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 2,040

Pairing: H/D + others

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize belongs to me, including but not limited to the concept of elves as Santa's helpers.

Notes: It seems kind of amazing that I'm updating this fic after so long…it's been almost two years. But I hate leaving all the people who were kind enough to review hanging, and I was inspired all of a sudden, so here it is! I feel like I've added a bit more depth to the characters this time, but I'm suffering from sleep deprivation and too much caffeine, so who really knows. ^^; Please review and tell me what you liked and didn't like so I can continue this fic for you all! Thank you so much to all my previous reviewers!

Seduction, once one got used to the idea, was actually kind of fun. One just had to confuse the other person, catch him off his guard, draw out the suspense and anticipation until…

Harry entertained the notion that he might be a sadist.

Nah. He was the Savior of the Wizarding World, kind and generous to small children and dumb animals.

Hector floated past his head, doing the backstroke through the air as he sang the highly unoriginal "Harry and Draco, sitting in a tree."

Soon, however, Harry would find himself utterly unable to be kind and generous to one small, dumb, extremely aggravating Christmas elf.

"K-I-S-S-I-N-"

"Enough!" Harry snapped. "Sing some bloody Christmas carols or something. You are the worst Christmas elf I've ever seen!" He hoped that Hector would at least refrain from pointing out that he was the only Christmas elf that Harry had yet had the misfortune to meet.

Hector seemed much too cheery to point out small inconsistencies in Harry's theories.

"You, my dear sir, have hammered in the first nail."

Harry feared his brain would short circuit if he pondered that metaphor too hard, so he just glared at the small man.

Hector seemed to follow the path Harry's brain had plunged down, and he grimaced. "Oh for the love of Santa, it's an old elf saying! Once you plant the first nail, everything will hold together well enough for you to finish the job. I didn't mean…that is to say, you young people…ahem."

Harry was gratified to see that Hector looked as distraught as Harry felt. Maybe that would stop his future sex/toy metaphors.

Oh. Dear. Merlin. Did I just think the word "_sex to_y"?

Harry buried his head in his pillow and tried to make the images go away.

He had come back to his room after dinner to find Hector perched upon his bed as if he owned it, and they had gotten down to a plan of attack. The looks that Draco had given him in the Great Hall were full of dark suspicion, and it was obvious that the blond feared another mealtime attack. Harry was determined not to be so predictable.

What unpredictable thing Harry was determined to do, however, had actually yet to be determined.

So he and Hector had started an emergency strategy meeting. The curtains around his bed were drawn, with a Silencing Charm firmly in place; Harry knew that Ron wouldn't think it odd for him to go to bed at 7:30. Harry tried not to think about the fact that it wasn't normal for a seventeen-year-old boy to go to bed at 7:30 just to escape the world. No more moping. That's what he had decided.

And if his world felt empty and without purpose sometimes, then he just had to count his blessings. His life was no longer in danger, he had great friends, and…

He was being blackmailed into seducing his childhood rival by Santa Claus.

Well, one can't have everything.

So, still uncomfortable with the thought of what was supposed to happen at the _end_ of this seduction, Harry had settled in to start plotting.

"Hey, Toy Soldier."

Hector kicked Harry none-too-gently in the ear.

"We're supposed to be _strategizing_, not fantasizing. Get whatever lecherous thoughts you were having out of your head and onto the paper. We've got squat here."

Harry came out of the pillow sputtering. _Lecherous?_

Hector merely rolled his green eyes – and really, bright green, those elves should consider that there's a limit to how far they should take the "Christmas" part – and jabbed a finger at the piece of parchment lying next to Harry's ear.

"Think. Faster."

Earlier, it had seemed to Harry that Hector really did care whether he and Draco got together or not. He had seemed happy at whatever the tension between them in the Quidditch shed had meant. Now, however, he was back to being his Christmas Sparkle and Cheer self.

No, Harry decided, there was no way he could be a sadist. Obviously, all the sadistic mojo was reserved for the Christmas elves.

He did not just think the words "sadistic mojo." He stored that word safely up on the top shelf of his mental bookcase, next to "sex toy." Back away from the bookshelf and…right, back to business then.

"How is it my fault if I can't come up with anything?" Harry shot another glare at the elf. "I've never seduced anyone before! Heck, I would hope I haven't seduced too many people at seventeen. You're old, right? Where's the love of your life?"

To Harry's surprise, Hector's cheeks flushed slightly at that comment.

"I've given you options! Pick one; they're all good."

Harry stared down at the parchment, lying oh-so-innocently on the bed next to him.

"One: Put a rose in everything he owns," Harry read. "First of all, I think if I stuck roses in his book bag and his bed, wouldn't he be covered in cuts from all the thorns?"

Hector rolled his eyes. "That's when you offer to kiss them and make them better. _Obviously_."

Harry quickly put a thick black line through number one.

"Two: Feed him pie. Three: Feed him grapes. Four: Feed him alcohol until he's so drunk that he – Hector!" Harry was scandalized. He immediately scribbled through the three options. "Why are all these about feeding him stuff, anyways?"

"'The way to a man's heart is through his stomach.' And I wrote this list while you were at dinner, enjoying one of Hogwarts' delectable dinners. Oh, how I suffer for the greater good!" Hector put on his best pained expression.

Harry grinned. "Dobby wouldn't let you back into the kitchens, would he?"

"Nasty things, house elves. Never trust an elf with mismatched socks, I always say." Harry noticed the elf's own socks were red and flashed the words "Santa's busy, but I've got a package for you too." As Harry tried desperately to throw that image up onto the top shelf of his mental bookcase with "sex toy" and "sadistic mojo," Hector continued, "Shall we move on? Option five was…"

Harry looked back at the paper. "Five: Take Draco on a date." He looked up. "Well, that seems easy enough."

Hector smiled slowly. "By "take," I meant kidnap. And when I said "date," I meant out to a bar, where you could feed him-"

Harry cut in hastily. "I'll decide what to do about the date. You can just sit back and relax, okay?"

He didn't like the gleam in the elf's eye when he agreed.

*

Though Harry had quickly rejected the insane elf's idea of a "date," the kidnapping part of the plan hadn't been a bad idea. After all, Draco and Harry weren't on friendly terms; asking him out on a date would just lead to suspicion and awkwardness.

Whereas kidnapping was just strange and hostile enough to work. Not to mention unpredictable.

Harry was beginning to like that word. If there was ever any reason why a relationship with Ginny wouldn't have worked out, that was it – too predictable. Not Ginny, per se; she had spunk and courage and could be quite a handful. But Harry and Ginny together would be the first step down the path to a cookie cutter life – a house, kids, a job.

Which was what he had always wanted, right?

Once the war ended, and things calmed down enough to allow Harry to go back to Hogwarts for his seventh year, he thought he would finally get that life. He had even considered asking Ginny out on a date. Then, less than a month into the semester, he had realized it – he was bored.

Not just a little bored, but mind blowingly and mind numbingly bored.

There were no puzzles to work out, nothing to solve or fear or stress over. No enemies, no expectations, no _challenges_. Asking Ginny out would have been simple and easy – and not a challenge.

She would say yes. Harry knew it, Ginny knew it, and he knew that neither of them was especially happy about that fact. Harry deserved a challenge, and Ginny deserved to be a challenge.

So he hadn't asked her out, and they were both better off for it.

And now Harry was left with this new puzzle in his hands, this question of how to seduce Draco Malfoy. Because no matter what Hector said about Malfoy's heart's desire, he knew that there was no way Malfoy would just fall into Harry's arms at request. Harry didn't even know if he would catch him if he did.

It was that unpredictable factor that Harry liked. A challenge, just like he needed. The enigma that was Malfoy, and all of the thoughts and emotions Harry experienced around him. Today, in the locker room, Harry had felt stressed and trapped and excited and panicky – but he hadn't been bored for a single moment of it.

He was ready to start the kidnapping.

*

Draco was not sure how he had ended up in Madam Puddifoot's with one Harry Potter, but he was sure it had had something to do with the potion he had tasted in his pumpkin juice at lunch.

Yesterday's Egg Attack had unnerved Draco, but he hadn't really thought Harry would try something again so soon. But only Potter could be talented and clever enough to defeat the Dark Lord, while still failing to understand that if you put a mild sleeping potion in pumpkin juice, the juice would infallibly taste of butterscotch and peas.

Draco quite liked butterscotch, and besides, he had decided, anyone unsubtle enough to try doping up a Potion Adept with one of the most common potions in existence could not possibly serve as a threat to him.

He had been half right. Potter wasn't dangerous. Just potentially insane.

But you never knew with the crazy ones…

"Alright, I'll bite, Potter," Draco drawled. Potter's head shot up, as if he had just noticed Draco was there. It seemed he had been dozing while waiting for the potion to wear off. Constant vigilance, indeed.

Harry's eyes met his, and the Boy Wonder gave him a half smile. "There's no need for biting just yet, Draco. Perhaps I'll take you up on your offer at a later time."

Draco stared at him. Was he…_flirting_?

Harry managed a smirk before his cheeks flooded with redness. It was good to know that if Potter was flirting, at least he wasn't managing it with any sort of finesse.

"I do apologize, Potter," Draco said. "I hadn't realized that your mind lived in such dirty places. Let me revoke that offer and clarify my statement – what the _hell_ am I doing with you in this awful, Godforsaken – and bright pink, might I add - place?"

Though fading, the red was still visible in his cheeks, but Harry had obviously managed to collect himself. "We're on a date," he said matter-of-factly.

Draco just stared at him.

"…and?"

The brunet looked confused. "And what?"

The Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-Frustrating was trying too hard to look innocent, Draco noticed. Can't trick a trickster, can't swindle a swindler, can't fool a – well, anyways, Harry was up to something.

"And why did you find it necessary to drug me and drag me out here with you? Most people just ask."

"You'd have said no."

Draco frowned. "So if you force me to come here against my will, then it counts as a yes?"

Harry grinned broadly and spread his hands out as he shrugged. "Who knows? You might be surprised at what your answer will be."

At that moment, what seemed like a dozen waitresses – all dressed in disgustingly pink dresses with pink aprons – descended upon their table, depositing cake after cake after cake. Tiny, heart-shaped cakes, each with a single letter written in hot pink icing on top of a white icing background.

The message was clear:

D & H K I S S I N G

And in the very middle of all the smaller, sickeningly pink cakes was a larger cake, pure white, with an elaborate green Christmas tree in the very center.

The only thought Draco could come up with was – _what is it with Potter and food?_


	5. In Which Thoughts Come in Amber & Green

Title: An Elf's Lament

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 2,296

Pairing: H/D + others

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize belongs to me, including but not limited to the concept of elves as Santa's helpers.

Notes: Thanks to the encouragement of my wonderful reviewers, as well as an inability to stop thinking about how I should continue this, the next chapter is out in record time XD Thanks to everyone who reviewed or added me to their favorites or alerts! Please continue to tell me your opinion on the (surprisingly serious direction) that this is going in! =)

*

Draco Malfoy had spent over six years observing Harry Potter. When one's childhood hero turns out to be an arrogant, insufferable prat, there's really nothing left that one can do but observe. And, of course, mock and torture the little bastard until he begs for mercy.

Frustratingly enough, Potter never begged for mercy. Not from Draco, not from Snape, not from that red-eyed snake man who kept following him around as if Harry held the secret to immortality. Which was stupid, because obviously Voldemort himself had possessed the secret or some approximation of it, and if he had stopped trying to kill Muggles and little boy heroes, he would still be alive. And maybe less repulsive looking.

Being rather more cunning than that Heir of Slytherin, Draco had done his research a little more carefully than both Snape and Voldemort. If he was going to beat Potter, if he was going to take revenge for that slight on the train all those years back, he had to know his enemy. So he observed Potter, with a single-mindedness that had taken over his mind until all he could see was Harry, everywhere he looked. In the Great Hall at breakfast, bending over the cauldron in Potions, shuffling through the halls looking despondent and mopey during break time. He had Harry Potter on the brain, and he couldn't stand that he was one of many, one of the numerous members of the Harry Potter Fanclub, though opposite of it. The Harry Potter Hateclub, then. Potter was too popular; he had too many friends and too many enemies and too many people noticing him all the time. Draco did not like to be overlooked.

And Draco was good at getting attention. He craved it, lusted after it. His impressions of Harry during mealtimes, his cutting comments about Harry's parents or past or fame, his false stories for the media, his sabotages during class – Draco Malfoy got Harry Potter's attention. He basked in his hatred, in his glares and insults. He was Harry's worst enemy, and that made him _something_. He wasn't just one of many – he was _the_ one.

Until Voldemort showed up. That Dark Delusional Lord had an advantage – he had killed Harry's parents. No one could deserve Potter's loathing more than that shell of a man. Draco could literally feel the absence of Harry's hatred, a chill that rushed across his skin and took away the warmth of his burning gaze. Draco was sensitive; he didn't like the cold.

Even when Harry's glare settled back upon his skin, it was a shadow of its former self. Harry hated him as a suspected minion of Voldemort; Draco was no longer his worst enemy, but a symbol of his ultimate hatred. Harry's gaze went right through him, leaving Draco's insides as cold as ice.

Draco Malfoy did not take well to dismissal.

He would get Harry's attention back, he decided. He would become the number one again.

It was with that attitude that Draco Malfoy went home the summer after his fifth year. It was with that attitude that his father found him went he arrived fresh out of Azkaban. It was with that attitude that he saw his father crawl on his knees and beg for mercy from his master.

Harry had never crawled for anyone.

Harry had never begged for mercy.

And Draco would be damned if he would be less than Harry fucking Potter.

And it was with that attitude that Draco ran away, to the protection of Hogwarts, to a place where he could escape all that he would become if he stayed. He escaped his father's anger; anger that would have killed him, either by his father's hand or his own. He ran from that realization – his father would rather kill him than be shamed by his actions.

He ran from it, but he didn't manage to escape. Hogwarts wasn't far enough.

It was way too close.

*

Harry supposed that most dates were not supposed to be like this; but then, Harry was not most people. He thought the date was going exceedingly well, actually.

After Malfoy had given the cakes in front of him an intensely disgusted look (they had been Hector's idea, and Harry hadn't been able to convince the deranged elf that attack by cake was a bad idea), the blond man had promptly stormed out of the shop. The waitresses all looked dismayed; Harry had explained earlier that it was his and Draco's first date, and they had been so excited to help.

He reassured them quickly that this was just how he had expected it to go and hurried after Malfoy. He knew Hector had arrived in time to eat the cakes by the chorus of surprised voices that followed him out the door.

He caught up with Malfoy outside of the Leaky Cauldron. The blond man dawdling along, but either because of the after effects of the potion, or because he wanted to appear cool and collected, he wasn't rushing.

Harry grabbed his upper arm and hung on tight. Malfoy struggled for a moment, but the other man was strong, and so, frustrated by his inability to get free, he turned around suddenly and gave Harry a haughty look.

"Excuse me," he said politely, "but I do believe our date has ended. For someone who claims to observe my eating habits quite closely, you seemed to have missed the fact that I abhor both cake and the color pink. It seems we are ill-matched."

Harry grinned a bit. "I knew that, actually. The cake wasn't my idea. The pink was, though," he added thoughtfully. "I never claimed to know your favorite colors."

"Not your idea? Then whose idea was it?" Malfoy asked suspiciously. "If you've recruited the Weasel to help you in your seduction, you're even stupider than I thought."

Harry noticed he didn't mention Hermione. Malfoy and Hermione had struck up a sort of truce during sixth year; she was doing research on spells that would be most effective against dark magic and had somehow recruited him. "It's only natural; he _does_ know the most about that sort of thing," she had claimed. Hermione forgave people easily. It seemed to Harry that Malfoy had been won over just as easily by Hermione's obvious desire for his knowledge.

Of course, the other reason he didn't mention her was that no one who had met Hermione would ever think she could be silly enough to try to win a boy's heart with mini pink cakes that spelled out a childish rhyme.

Harry wished people could say the same of him, but it couldn't be helped now. Damn that elf.

"It wasn't Ron," Harry returned mildly. "Do you really think he'd give me advice, even bad advice, on how to seduce you?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes at him. "Tell me, Potter, why the sudden urge to win me over? We've had a truce going on for over a year now; are you really bored enough to break it?"

"Bored?" Harry echoed. It was like Malfoy could read his thoughts. "I supposed that's it. I'm bored. So now I'm seducing you."

"I didn't know you swung that way, Potter."

Harry made a noncommittal noise. Truth was, he didn't really know if he did either.

"How do you know _I_ swing that way?"

"I don't." But surely Santa Claus and Dumbledore did.

That was a disturbing thought. Two old men with huge white beards might know more about Malfoy's sexual orientation than Malfoy himself.

Harry cut off his train of thought before his mind could come up with an image of a threesome situation in which they teach Malfoy just exactly how gay he could…

Could you bleach your own mind? Harry wondered.

"Potter, you look as if you just caught Flitwick, McGonagall, and Mrs. Norris doing the dirty in the broom closet." Harry could not believe Malfoy was adding to his mental image. He might have just thrown up in his mouth a little. "If you're so disgusted by the thought of me, why the hell are you trying to date me?" Malfoy rolled his eyes, obviously annoyed at the utter stupidity that made up Harry Potter's brain.

"No!" Harry exclaimed. "That's not it! There's just – there was that image of Dumbledore, and then Mrs. Norris, and the North Pole is so _cold_ you'd have to _huddle for wamrth_…"

Malfoy stared at him as if he'd gone mad. Harry wasn't sure how far that was from the truth.

He shook his head a little as if he could banish the images haunting his brain that way. "Look, Malfoy. I'm not disgusted by you –" And he wasn't, to his surprise. "And I am going to seduce you, whether you like it or not. So let's go."

And with that, Harry grabbed the blond's wrist and dragged him over to the Leaky Cauldron.

*

It came as a surprise to Draco that Harry Potter could actually hold his drink.

He had been dragged – against his will! – into the Leaky Cauldron and forced into a booth towards the back by Harry. The dark haired boy had tried to order Butterbeers for them, but one glance at Draco's face had him stuttering to change the order to two Firewhiskeys.

The stutter, and the blush that had followed it, had reassured Draco that even if Harry had seemed somewhat in control of the situation outside – though obviously nuts; what about the North Pole and Dumbledore? – the boy was not quite as sure of himself as he had first appeared. Seduction was most definitely not his forte.

It was a Friday night, and the Leaky Cauldron had music and dancing on Fridays. The pounding bass was a comforting throb in Draco's head, helping to keep his head focused as the whiskey burned through his system. Though it was not a Hogsmeade weekend, the war had loosened up the rules for Hogwarts' seventh years. After all they had been through at sixteen, who was going to begrudge them a little entertainment and alcohol?

Before Draco could sink too far into those little visited thoughts, Harry stumbled back to the table with two glasses of amber-colored liquid. Their fourth or fifth round, at least. Draco took one with a nod of thanks and sipped it, relishing the burn as it slid down his throat. He smiled faintly at the glass.

When he looked up again, Harry was watching him intently. Staring, more like it. Really, where were the boy's manners? Lost with his social skills, it seemed.

"What?" Draco snapped, irritated and uncomfortable.

Harry started, shaking his head a bit as if to clear it. "Nothing, I –" He stopped, looking confused. "I'm seducing you." His voice held a note of doubt.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Saying it over and over again doesn't make it true, Potter. You're not doing a bang up job of it."

That got to him; the boy wonder never could admit defeat. Over cheeks bright red with drink and embarrassment Harry's eyes narrowed. Draco experienced a moment of panic – that determined look never ended well for him.

"Then let's dance!"

Not a moment seemed to pass before Draco found himself on the dance floor, pushed close against the other boy by the crowd around them. He wondered if the drink was getting to him after all, but the bass distracted him and he couldn't bring himself to care. That fuzzy feeling that came with the right amount of alcohol was fogging up his brain, and he grabbed onto Harry to keep from falling, though he soon realized Harry was even less steady on his feet. Gripping each other tightly on the waist and shoulders, they swayed from side to side, guided by the beat more than anything else.

"Draco."

That determined look was still on Harry's face when Draco looked at him, and Draco wondered what else the brunet would do that Draco would be completely unable to stop. Somehow Harry always won.

Draco wouldn't lose. He had proven himself.

He hadn't begged for mercy, even from his own father.

Draco couldn't tear his eyes away from those bright green orbs that seemed to see into his soul. _Into_ it, not through it.

So this is what it felt like to have all of Harry's attention completely to himself, Draco thought absently, and he wondered if the warmth he felt was just from the alcohol.

Harry opened his mouth to say something further, and then kept it hanging open, his eyes leaving Draco's to stare at something right over Draco's head.

Draco looked up.

Mistletoe.

What the hell was mistletoe doing hanging above his head in the middle of a bar? It wasn't even attached to anything; it was just hanging there!

Outraged, Draco turned to glare at Potter.

"What a dirty trick," he spat. "Getting me drunk and attacking me with mistletoe? I thought you were too pure for that."

Harry's mouth opened and closed for a few moments, until he managed, "We don't have to kiss or anything! I swear, this wasn't me. I'm just as shocked as you are."

Didn't have to kiss? "When are you going to realize you live in a world of _magic_? Of course we have to kiss! If we don't, the urge to do so will become stronger and stronger until we end up fucking like bunnies in a hallway somewhere!" The anger had cleared Draco's head, but he couldn't decide what to do. He didn't want to kiss Harry here, in front of all these people, but he couldn't risk the consequences of running.

Then again, he was good at running. He'd had a lot of experience with it.

So he took off.


	6. In Which There is a Lack of Icing

Title: An Elf's Lament

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 2,669

Pairing: H/D + others

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize belongs to me, including but not limited to the concept of elves as Santa's helpers.

Notes: Yes, this took *checks* over two years to post. I am a horrible, horrible updater. And it's the middle of summer, the weirdest time to update a holiday fic. However, I hope some people out there who have been waiting for an update notice and enjoy this – I really do appreciate your comments and feedback! When I'm trying to write, I read them and smile. Hopefully future updates will be less few and far between. I hope you guys enjoy the cracked out romance that Harry and Draco are developing!

…0…

When Draco arrived back at Hogwarts twenty minutes later, he had already begun to regret running. He had been caught under mistletoe once before, at one of his parents' Christmas parties. He had been fourteen at the time, and his parents' friends had had a good laugh at his situation. "Be a man; kiss her quick!" had been the only advice given, and Draco had stood up on his tiptoes to give the thirty-something socialite a quick peck.

He had only heard stories of what happened to people who were unwilling to "kiss her quick." The worst one was Benjamin Bungee and Lindsey Lamberton. Benjamin was a wizard lawyer and happily married and, when accidentally caught under mistletoe with his assistant, had been unwilling to cheat on his wife even for a moment. He had spent the next week researching counterspells that would give him back his free will, but in the end, he and Lindsey had jumped each other in the middle of an important trial before the Wizengamot. Needless to say, they won the case.

If Benjamin Bungee and his team of legal assistants had not been able to find the counterspell, Draco had little hope for his own ability. He could ask Hermione to help – she was probably better than a team of lawyers anyways – but somehow he couldn't imagine that their tentative civility stretched that far. He had not allowed himself to consider her a friend, though their weekly coffee breaks to discuss dark spell theory might suggest otherwise.

The effects of the potion from earlier, as well as the late hour, made Draco decide that this was a problem best solved another day. Besides, he didn't feel any compulsion to seek Harry out and trap him against a wall…yet.

Maybe he was immune. Maybe Harry was, too. Maybe they would never have to finish their date or go on a second.

Yeah, and maybe Santa would decide that Draco deserved his heart's desire, gift wrapped on his bed.

….a….

When Draco awoke at 4 am to find Harry Potter, gift wrapped on his bed, he decided that Santa could read minds and was fucking with him. If this was his heart's desire, the old bearded guy was as cracked as Dumbledore.

Oh Merlin, Draco thought, they're probably best friends.

We are so doomed.

He stared at the dark-haired young man, who was sleeping soundly and making a slight snuffling noise that seemed to be his version of snoring. Draco wondered if Harry had gift wrapped himself. It seemed a bit difficult to wrap your own wrists and ankles with ribbon and still get the bows absolutely perfect.

Draco was rather upset to notice that his eyes had paused at Harry's chest, conveniently shirtless. The muscles from Quidditch and sparing, both activities that Harry still did regularly, were glittering in the darkness.

Wait, glittering? Was that…oh dear lord, the boy was covered in sparkles. Glow in the dark sparkles.

Either this was some demented seduction ploy or the effect of the mistletoe. Draco unbuttoned the top button of his silk pajamas – what classy people wore, as opposed to insane boys who slept half naked in the winter – and looked at his own, rather paler chest. He didn't see any glistening.

Why on earth was the hero of the wizarding world trying to seduce him by covering himself with glitter?

Draco was even more upset to notice that he had resumed staring at Harry's chest and that he was wondering if the glitter was edible. Well, it seemed only logical right? Seduction Glitter should definitely be edible, and since it was Christmas, should probably taste like gingerbread and icing.

He licked his lips before he could stop himself. The urge to do the same to Harry's chest had gotten so strong…

Damn. He was not immune to mistletoe. Draco never got any cool extra magical powers, like the heroes in the illusions his mother created for him as a child.

In fact, maybe he was even more susceptible to it than most. He most definitely would not mind jumping Harry, and it had not been a week. It had barely been six hours.

To be fair, Benjamin Bungee had probably not woken up to a gift wrapped Lindsey half naked in his bed.

Really, Draco justified, he just wanted to see if the glitter tasted like gingerbread and icing. For future reference. For when he actually had his heart's desire in his bed. It seemed like very, very pertinent information that he had to find out immediately.

…b…

Harry awoke slowly to the soothing caress of a tongue lapping softly at his chest. His eyes opened with a start when the tongue disappeared and he felt teeth on his nipple.

He wasn't all that surprised to see Draco's blond head pop up at Harry's sudden movement.

"Couldn't wait for me to take you up on the biting?" Harry mumbled sleepily. Something smelled like…Christmas. Was it his imagination, or did Draco's face look a little flushed in the darkness? And what was creating that glow…

"Am I covered in glitter?" Harry exclaimed, sitting up properly.

Draco's eyebrows raised. "Yes, gingerbread-flavored. Next time, do me a favor and add some icing, make it a proper Christmas snack."

Harry ignored the "next time" and tried to focus on the manner at hand. "Why am I covered in glitter? And why," he struggled to part his hands from their uncomfortable position under Draco's stomach, "are my hands tied together?"

Draco rolled off the brunet, shaking his head as if to clear it. "Are you telling me that you didn't gift wrap yourself and sneak your way into my bed to seduce me?"

"Gift…oh." Hector. "Maybe that mistletoe is to blame."

Draco arched an eyebrow and studied Harry's face in the dim light of the glitter. "I don't believe the plant is quite _that_ aggressive. I believe this is another unfathomable plot of yours."

Harry didn't want to mention Hector. Damn that interfering elf, making him look like some food-crazy pervert. Seriously, edible _glitter_? That elf was way too obsessed with anything he could put in his mouth.

Time to stop that train of thought before it goes too far. No thinking about mouths. Well, except maybe Draco's, which was looking a little fuller than usual, and come to think of it, Harry had been quite enjoying the licking and even, yes, the biting and…

Was this the mistletoe's influence?

"Potter…" Draco said hesitantly. "Are you really that intent on seducing me? Because really, you kind of suck."

Potter tried not to think about what he would like Draco to suck and focus on the words. Something was important here…oh right, the mistletoe.

"Maybe I do. But the mistletoe really wasn't me. It's hard to explain, but the person who keeps trying to give me advice on this is a little psycho and it ends up with…well…this." Harry attempted to gesture at his bound feet and sparkling chest with his hands as best he could. "His intentions are good?" Harry ended weakly.

Draco just stared at him, and Harry couldn't help but want to grab him and…damn it, Hector! These bloody ribbons are in the way!

"Would you at least mind untying me?"

…c…

Draco didn't know what to believe, but somehow those damn puppy dog eyes always got to him. Besides, Draco was an expert at telling when normal, intelligent people lied, and the Boy Wonder was bollocks at it in the first place. He believed him about the mistletoe. Not yet about the gift wrapping and glitter.

He nodded slightly and moved to untie the dark-haired boy's wrists, trying to ignore the dark path of slightly wet skin on Harry's chest where he had licked through the glitter. The taste of gingerbread was still strong in his mouth, and as he fought the urge to resume his exploration of the tanned skin, he realized they had not yet kissed.

Draco sat back on his heels as Harry rubbed his wrists and moved to free his ankles.

"Potter."

The green eyes look at him questioningly, and Draco could see no trace of the longing and lust that he was experiencing.

Obviously, Harry was immune. Or maybe this seduction thing is just a joke, and he could never be attracted to me anyways.

He fought down the disappointment; it was just the mistletoe talking. He did not want to end up fucking like bunnies in the hall – or even in his bed, as he feared might happen soon – so he had to say this.

"I think we need to kiss."

Harry's eyes widened in shock, but otherwise he stayed motionless. Tensed, even, like a cat.

Definitely immune. Right now, Draco would have jumped at the opportunity to kiss Harry.

"I know that might seem unpleasant to you, but mistletoe is dangerous. You may feel no effects, but they will most likely come with time. I've never heard of anyone escaping." Draco looked away. "We can always postpone it and hope for the best, but that could lead to some very…unwanted results." Draco glanced back at Harry, half hoping that the brunet would just want to get it over with, half hoping that he would leave and the whole thing would go away. Harry hadn't changed position, and his eyes were impossible to read. Draco knew all of Harry's emotions, had been observing him for years – why couldn't he figure out what to do here?

He cleared his throat. "Right then, let's just go back to sleep. Well, actually, if you could leave my bed and go sleep in your own, I'd be much obliged, and I'm sure this whole thing will just blow over in the morning-"

Harry pounced.

The boy hero's mouth covered his and, despite his sudden attack, the first kiss was gentle, tentative. Harry's eyes were shut, a sign of trust that didn't match a kiss given under magical influence. Draco's own closed softly, enjoying the short moment while it lasted.

But the moment wasn't so short, and it kept lasting. Harry's mouth met his own in a series of short, sweet kisses, that left Draco straining to deepen the connection. Harry's hands were on either side of the blond, trapping him, and a leg between his own brushed tantalizingly against his upper thighs. He opened his mouth in a gasp, and Harry took the opportunity to sneak his tongue inside, pulling it out after a quick invasion. Draco moaned at the tease and finally took action, grabbing a handful of hair at the back of the other boy's head and dragging him down for a deep kiss that left them both gasping for breath.

Draco flipped them over so that he was sitting on Harry's thighs and resumed his earlier attack on Harry's right nipple. The gingerbread flavor had weakened, so he switched to the other nipple and gave it a small nip. Harry made a strained sound and dragged Draco up his body with both his hands on Draco's shoulders. The attack on his mouth that followed made Draco forcefully grind his hips down into Harry's. The hardness there surprised him and suddenly he realized he was painfully hard as well.

Harry gasped into his mouth. "I want…" Draco heard him whisper before pulling the blond back down for another kiss.

What did he want?

More importantly, what did _Draco_ want?

Draco jerked away from Harry violently, scooting down the bed until he hit the wooden post in the bottom left corner.

They had kissed. They had satisfied the mistletoe's requirements.

That's all it was.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Draco couldn't possibly actually at all in any way _want_ the Boy Who Lived to seduce him. He just liked the taste of gingerbread, found it very erotic, and when gingerbread combined with the effects of mistletoe…

Well, it was a very Happy Christmas.

He resisted the urge to glance down at Harry's pajamas bottoms, acutely aware of exactly how happy Christmas could be. Instead, he looked up at the brunet's eyes, somehow managing to be green even in the dim glow of the glitter. Harry looked confused and a little…disappointed? Was Draco imagining things? Not that it mattered, of course.

The blond cleared his throat. "The mistletoe won't bother us anymore. We've satisfied the spell. You can go now."

Harry blinked. "Of…of course. Right. The mistletoe." He looked down at his chest, which glittering everywhere exactly for on his nipples and a slightly crooked line down the middle. "You want me to go."

"That's what I said." Draco needed Harry to leave. Immediately. And to take his stupid chest with him.

The other boy slowly got up off the bed, gathering up discarded ribbon as he went. "I guess we got a little…carried away. Right. I'll go."

Draco refused to watch him as he reached to open the bedcurtain. He brought his knees up to his chest and locked his arms around them tightly instead.

He heard a whispered "I'm sorry" as the curtain dropped shut.

…d…

Harry was barely out of the dungeons when Hector exploded on him.

"What the hell was that, Potter?" The Christmas elf seemed to drop out of thin air directly onto Harry's head. Magic. It was damn annoying.

"How the hell should I know?" Harry said heatedly, trying not to think about what the hell it had been. They had been…and then Draco had…and then it had ended. He didn't know what he was the most confused about. He had said "I want." Even in the heat of the moment, he had had no idea what followed that word. Want.

The elf tugged viciously on his ear. He was sitting on Harry's shoulder now.

"What?" Harry almost yelled. "Are you a trained monkey now? Get off my shoulder!"

Hector glared and jumped off to the stone floor of the hallway.

"You have glitter on your butt."

The elf did a little dance as he tried to see the white sparkles that coated his little red pants.

"Did you know it's edible?"

The elf swiped the glitter off with his right hand as he craned his head over his left shoulder to see the offending substance more properly.

"And tastes of _gingerbread_?"

Hector rolled his eyes. "Of course it tastes of gingerbread, you dummy. I had to pick a flavor I know Draco likes. The only information I have on him is Christmas sweet-related. Unless you would have preferred egg-flavored?"

Harry's hands squeezed into fists. "Why did it have to be _flavored in the first place_?"

The Christmas elf smiled. "Who ever heard of flavorless edible glitter/"

Maybe Harry looked like he was about to pop from rage because Hector quickly raised his hands in surrender and added, "Look, I was just trying to help. Anyways, the beginning part was good. We just need to work on your closing ability."

The boy hero sighed and buried his face in his hands. He had wanted things to be less boring. Now he felt as stressed out and panicky as when Voldemort had been up to another one of his plots. Would there ever be any sort of middle, "normal" not-boring in his life?

"Oh, let's ask your friends for help! Dean and Seamus seem like they know how to seal the deal."

Harry's head swung up to stare at Hector so fast the elf instinctively hopped back a step.

"Hector…"

"Yes?"

"Have you been _watching people hook up_?"

The elf just smirked and disappeared with a pop. He had most likely gone to wake up Dean and Seamus, or to interrupt whatever it was the two of them were doing at this late hour. Harry had a bad feeling about this.

Seal the deal.

Harry stared down at the line down his chest where the glitter had been licked away and tried to swallow around the lump of terror in his throat.


End file.
